


The Letter

by dirtyzucchini



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, M/M, Other: See Story Notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 01:44:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/792584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirtyzucchini/pseuds/dirtyzucchini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A letter to a dear departed...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Letter

**Author's Note:**

> This one has been gnawing on me ever since I started to write Sentinel-slash. That's not too long ago, but still, it's been a while. Now it's finally finished, thanks to my wonderful betas Bettina and Natasha.
> 
> Please note that I use some fanon in here, for example a light version of the Guide-with-a-capital-G-phenomenon. 
> 
> This piece of my heart may border on sappy in some peoples eyes, so I warn you up front. 
> 
> Any kind of feedback will be appreciated and if possible answered.

## The Letter

by Svenja

Author's disclaimer: Of course all things Sentinel belong to Pet Fly. I'm not making any money publishing this story. So what else is new?

* * *

Hey there... 

how are you, Big Guy? Senses okay? They should be, over there. I don't really know what to say... except that I miss you so bad my entire body hurts. 

You're so far away, and that's so unfair... we had so little time, and we deserved more. We did, after all we've been through, both of us, alone and together, it's just not _right_ to take you away from me now. 

Yes, I _do_ know self-pity when I see it, thank you, Detective. But it seems I'm not capable of thinking beyond this right now, beyond how much time we could have had, what we could have done, and how much time we were allowed to spend with each other, and what we have done. And it just doesn't add up, no matter how good the time we had has been, there's a huge minus on that account, and I'm trying to figure out why and failing miserably. 

Oh, I know what the minus is, of course. It's decades of anniversaries and cooking and Christmases and waking up in your arms and kissing you. It's a lifetime worth of hearing your laughter and your voice and those little noises you make when you wake up. It's a thousand times of joining you in the shower and feeding you with that unhealthy but wonderful whipped cream stuff from the bakery and making love with you under a full moon on a camping trip. But most of all it's this one thing we've been denied, the one thing we never found the time to do the right way. Most of all it's being one, feeling you inside me, being joined in everything we are, heart and soul and body. 

I keep thinking, if we had made love like this, maybe I wouldn't be so empty now. With you imprinted inside me that way, maybe _this_ feeling would be strong enough to be recalled, strong enough to conquer this total pain that my soul has become since you were taken away. 

Maybe Simon is right and I shouldn't feel this way. He said I should appreciate my life, because you gave yours to save it, and that I shouldn't belittle the sacrifice you made. He might be right, but he hasn't seen what Ive seen, hasn't been there with you on that cold, dirty floor after you caught the bullet that had been meant for me. Simon never saw how surprised you looked. He never saw your fear. 

A sacrifice demands a conscious decision, and this was nothing but some silly Tribal-Protector-instinct kicking in. You never had a choice in this, your instict took it from you, and where exactly does this leave me as your Guide? Sorry, I know I promised... but this just comes to me from time to time. 

I _do_ remember what you said, you know. I remember about every second after I called for the ambulance. I pulled my sweater off, bundled it and pressed it to the wound, knowing it wouldn't help a thing, making those reassuring, cooing noises that never make any sense at all. 

Suddenly, you grabbed my wrist, and I shut up, and looked into your eyes. Surprise and fear gave way to understanding there, and that scared me to death, and you said: "No guilt." 

On the edge of a panic attack I tried to joke: "Tell me that after my nightmare about this latest ordeal, will you?" 

You simply repeated: "No guilt. Promise." 

I promised, and you relaxed somewhat, and you said: "you're the best thing that ever happened to me..." I wanted to tell you the same, but there was this fear, this overwhelming fear of losing you, and all I could say was: "Don't go. Please don't leave me... not now... stay with me..." 

You smiled, and you looked so tired, and you said: "I'm not going anywhere... you're my home..." In your eyes, I saw what you already knew, and I started to cry... you tried to lift your hand to brush the tears away and couldn't... 

"don't..." you whispered, your eyes pleading for my strength, and somehow I found it, and became your Guide for what turned out to be the last time in this life. 

I told you to dial down the pain, which you did. I told you everything was going to be all right, which you believed. I bent down over you, and we kissed, and for the fraction of a second everything WAS all right, we were on the loft's balcony once more, and this was the first of a million slow, sweet, perfect kisses. 

But it ended, and we were on that floor again, and you said: "I love you, Blair Sandburg..." 

And I pray to whatever deity responsible that you heard me saying: "I love you, James Ellison." because you closed your eyes there, and under my hand on your chest your heart stopped... before I had been able to wrap my poor mind around the concept that you were gone, the ambulance had arrived, and I was shoved away from you, the paramedics were working on you, I wanted to go back to your side but Simon was there suddenly and held me back, and it was all a blur in which one of the paramedics announced that you'd been revived and they hurried you off to the hospital and Simon and I followed them. 

Next I remember hours on end, hoping against hope that they'd be able to really bring you back, sitting in one of these ugly uncomfortable plastic chairs we'd always been joking about, without noticing it. 

A long time passed, and suddenly Simon said something stupid about you being a fighter. That did it for me, I was crying like a little kid within not so much as a second. 

I made myself as small as one possibly can on one of those chairs, and I cried silently, but like mad, anyway. 

Simon laid his hand on my shoulder, and I slapped it, and a little later Megan came and tried to put her arms around me, and I slapped her _face_ , and even though I'm sorry I hurt her, the fact remains: I won't let anybody touch me anymore. Not ever. No one can touch me like you. All I want are your arms around me and your hands on me... but you're not here, and so I can't let anybody touch me. 

I think there must have been some doctor coming, for I was given an injection, and before I could say anything against it, everything went black. 

When I came back, I was lying on the couch in the loft, with Simon in a chair beside me. "How are you?" he asked, handing me a glass of water, and all I could say was: "How's Jim?" 

He didn't answer until I had emptied the glass, then, reluctantly: "Coma." 

I nodded. "He won't come back." 

"There's no way of knowing that, Sandburg!" he shot back, and I didn't want to argue, so I nodded again, then he told me the details... that your heart was beating, but you couldn't breathe for yourself, that there most likely would be permanent brain damage from the lack of oxygene caused by the blood loss, and other things I don't remember because I didn't really hear them. 

All I could think of was you in a hospital bed, alone and cold and unable to breathe. So I struggled to my feet, a little dizzy at first, then I made my way to the bathroom. I showered and shaved, and went upstairs to get dressed. 

"What are you doing, Sandburg?" Simon yelled from downstairs, and I remembered that he didn't have a clue about this bedroom, that it wasn't yours anymore, but ours, and I called back: "I'm getting dressed." 

"Up-... oh." was what he managed, and he left me alone. 

I know I should have told him in a different way, but it just didn't seem to matter anymore. Nothing did but getting to you. I got dressed, and went downstairs again. 

Simon was still there, which surprised me, but the look on his face was almost more than I could stand. I didn't say anything, just grabbed my jacket and my keys and motioned for him to leave. On his way to the door, he asked: "Want a lift to the hospital?" 

I shook my head. "Not with that look on your face, but thanks anyway." 

He sighed: "What am I supposed to think? You turned Ellison into..." 

I knew that he didn't really mean what he was about to say. It had been a hard day for him, too, he worried for you almost as much as I did. And of course those were surprising news. Maybe he was pissed because we didn't tell him before. But I wasn't my normal understanding self that day, just as he wasn't as open minded as he normally is. So I interrupted him, all but snarling: "Don't you dare! Don't you ever dare to say _anything_ like that again. It wasn't me who turned Jim into anything, it was _love_ that turned us _both_ , and we _both_ were scared to death in the beginning. But love is too precious to be thrown away for something as unimportant as the package, so we tried. And it worked. I will not let you turn this love into something dirty, hear me? Now get out, I need to go to the hospital." 

He went away without so much as looking at me, but I couldn't make myself care. 

I spent almost the whole time of a week in the hospital, by your side, holding your hand. I know you couldn't feel me, but you could hear my voice when I read to you, and I hope it eased some of the horrors that were forced upon you by hospital rules. I didn't want to let you go, but I was ready to do it anyway, because I know this mere existing had nothing for you. 

I remember... our first night together in your bed... you told me about what you wanted to do when you were younger. 

"I wanted to go exploring." you said. And you admitted that a part of you still wanted to do that. 

I hope you can do it now, Big Guy. I hope there's endless miles of places no one's ever seen before, and endless numbers of people nobody spoke to before, all waiting for you to be found. I want... need you to have this. There has to be at least something good about this mess, but I can't know, so I hold on to my hope that you've found something over there... a world that deserves you... 

It was the eighth day, when one of the doctors came up to me. He told me that they had to keep those machines going for at least another six days, and after that I as your emergency contact would be free to choose whether or not to stop the treatment. I thanked him and came back to your room. 

I felt you there, stronger than ever, fighting to get back into your body that was damaged too badly to ever be your soul's home again. I felt you come to rest when I sat down beside you, taking your hand. 

What was I to do? What did _you_ want me to do? Stopping the machines would mean putting an end to your physical life... killing your amazing, beautiful body that I love as much as the beautiful spirit who used to live in it. 

And if your last ties to this world were severed... where would you go? Would I ever be able to feel your presence again, your love? Because I could feel you, you know? Moving around restlessly, like a caged animal... yet always close to me when I longed for support. 

I broke down that night, unable to make this decision, knowing it had to be made... it was too much. I started to cry, again silently, my face hidden in the unharmed side of your body. 

You were close to me again; after some time of hovering beside me you seemed to realise this was nothing to go away soon, and suddenly you were there, all around me. 

I could feel your love and concern for me, and I loved you even more for that. You were the one on the edge, on the border to the unknown, yet you worried for me. 

Selfish little me, as I may add. Too afraid to let you make your own decisions, too afraid to trust in you to find me when the time was right to meet again. Things between us had been about friendship in the beginning, and about love for a long time, but all the time underlying it had been about _trust_ , and why shouldn't I trust in you now? Talk about fear-based responses. 

Realising this, I made my decision, and knowing I had to let you go caused more tears, but you were there and held me and let me cry, my Blessed Protector once more... maybe to be my Guardian Angel soon. 

Next day didn't find me by your side until late afternoon. I was out, talking to people who I thought would like to tell you goodbye, part on the phone, part around the town. 

I told them where and when to see you, how it had happened if they wanted to know. 

And over the next days, they came. Carolyn, Stephen, your father, Naomi, and of course, men and women from the police. _Many_ of them, not only from Major Crimes. People from your past with and without me, people from our present, some crying, some silent, some even laughing... all cherishing James Joseph Ellison, each thanking you for being there in their own, special way. 

I knew how you felt, a mixture of happiness and sadness radiating from you, and I knew what I had done was right. It felt like goodbye, and that's what it was supposed to be. It was good to know I wasn't the only one going to miss you... 

It was our last evening together, very late, the last of your visitors gone for a while. I sat on your bed, holding your hand, reading some short stories to you. You were wrapped all around me again, keeping me warm. We'd been there like that for quite some time, when there was a soft knock on the door. 

"Come in." I said, putting the book away. Simon walked in, a little reluctant, but he did. 

"It's late, Captain. Shouldn't you be at home?" 

"Figure I should. Just wanted to... apologize, I guess." He stood close to the door, somewhat awkward, but if that was all I could get it would be fine by me. I know how much it had hurt you that he hadn't come to the hospital with the rest of Major Crimes. "It's okay. I should have been more careful. I was just a little out of it. Listen... can't you just forget it? It doesn't really matter anymore. He'll be gone this time tomorrow..." It hurt to think about that, but you tightened your hold around me, and the pain lessened. 

Simon said: "I don't think I can do that. Or want to do that. I admit I was shocked at first, but I thought about it. You two... I thought and still think of you as my friends. And if... being a couple is what makes you happy, I should be okay with this. So... I'm sorry for that. Think you can forgive me?" 

"It's done. Hey, it's been a hell of a shock for me, too! I know you won't believe me, but I've been _SO_ not into guys before him. Still am not. Just in love with him." 

Simon relaxed and sat down on a chair beside the bed. "After all we've been through, I think I can believe you. Not that I'd pretend to understand, though." He smiled, and I smiled back, and everything was okay again. 

We talked for some time, about you, about work... well, mostly about you. The way you were before we met... things that happened back then, cases you solved. Just stuff, you know? 

Later on he asked me how we found out 'that there was more than friendship going on' between us (his exact choice of words), so I told him about that night we stood on the balcony. How we just looked at each other and _knew_. That we kissed. That you ran inside and upstairs and I ran inside into the shoebox that used to be my room back then. 

Simon laughed and said that was exactly the way it had to happen with us, and did I mind to tell him how we finally got together? 

I didn't, and I told him about our trials and tribulations, both of us always pushing and pulling (I left out the sex, because I didn't think he was ready to go there), about the terrible things we said to each other, the terrible things we _did_ to each other (this is where women come in, right?) before you sat me down to talk, how you tried to convince me that being together was the right thing to do, how I didn't want to be convinced, but that you had the better points in the end. 

It wasn't until he wanted to know what you said to get me on the clue-bus that I came close to crying. I remember every word you said, and so I asked him: "You're sure you want to go to the Ellison/Sandburg-Zone?" 

"Ah, hell, I've been to many other parts of your forest before. I'll be okay." 

I laughed, for the first time since you were shot. It was good to have someone to talk to. Still my eyes were wet when I told him: "It was really silly. He... you know, he held quite a lecture -and a good one- on The Importance Of Love For Lost Souls Like Us. It was impressive, really, and every word was _so_ true. And yet, what made it through to me was one single sentence. A quote. 'You miss 100 percent of the shots you never take.' Know who said that? No? Wayne Gretzky. And... and that was just _so_ Jim, quoting _Gretzky_ in a situation like this... I... I knew then..." 

My voice cracked, and I was crying. You tried, but not even you could help me stop it. Simon came over, I thought he would lay his hand on my shoulder and I'd have to slap him again, but he didn't touch me. He just sat down beside me, close enough to let me feel he was there for me. 

Sometimes I think you told him what to do, but of course I can't be sure about that. 

It took some time, but I stopped crying later, and Simon handed me a bunch of Kleenex he'd found God knows where, let me clean myself up a little and said: "You shouldn't spend the night here. Come on, I'll take you home." 

I shook my head. "I'd rather stay. This is his last night." 

He sighed. "You can't know that, Sandburg. And I think you shouldn't do what..." 

"I won't let this go on. You know he wouldn't want it. It's not 'living', it's 'existing'. Jim deserves better than that. I'd love to keep those machines going... to wait for him to wake up one day when I least expect it. Fact is, he won't. Fact is, I'd do this for _me_ , not for him. Fact is, being tied to his... wrecked body hurts him... and I won't hurt him to make myself feel better. You don't have to understand it, much less like it... but as a friend I need you to tolerate it. Please... don't make it any harder than it is." 

Simon thought about it for a while, then all he said was: "So... when do you want me to be here tomorrow?" I didn't know where he was going with this, so I just stared at him. 

"You don't really think I'd let you go through this alone, do you? Just tell me when to be here so that I can take you home safely. Jim would want me to do that, you know?" 

I knew you would, and I told him that one of the doctors would come in to stop the machines at ten, and he simply stated he'd be there at ten, said good night and left. 

I stayed with you the whole night. A Nurse tried to kick me out, but I didn't let her. When she was gone, I went back to reading to you for a while, then I just sat there, touching you, feeling you close to me, a few hours of peace before I'd have to face the world on my own again. 

Through the window of your room I could see the sunrise, but I didn't like it that day. In fact, I never hated anything as much as those colors slowly rising out of the dark that morning. It took away my last night with you, it showed how fast time passed by and how soon my time with you would be over. 

Of course there was nothing I could do against it, so I went home to shower and shave and put on some fresh clothes, to make sure I would be okay for your senses. I know that doesn't make much sense, but lately nothing does. I just did what felt right, going through the motions of my life with you, where things like that had been important... When I came back to you it was about nine a.m.; one last hour to say goodbye. 

I'm quite sure I was talking the whole time, even though I'm not sure at all what I said. I tried not to cry, but I know I did. You held me very, very tight, I could tell you didn't want to let go, just like I didn't, and that made it better and worse at the same time. 

I wanted to hug you back, wanted that so bad for just one last time, to let you know what words could never say, just once to ask you to wait for me... but I couldn't, because the body on the bed wasn't really you anymore, I knew you wouldn't feel it, and I couldn't embrace your... presence that surrounded me, either... I just sat there, felt you, and cried, unable to find a voice loud enough to let the world know the loss that was about to happen to me, so I kept on talking to you. Somehow you were able to calm me down somewhat, and I could stop crying a little while before Simon knocked and entered the room. 

His face was concerned and sad, but calm when he asked: "The doctor's waiting. Are you ready?" 

"No... but it'll have to do. Do you know... can he take this... this breathing-thing out of..." 

I couldn't go on, but he already knew what I wanted to say, and simply answered: "I'll make him." and left to talk to the doctor. 

I stayed with you of course, unmoving and hardly thinking, and some time later Simon and the doctor came in, and somebody wanted to know if I was sure I was doing the right thing, and when I said yes I was given a piece of paper I had to sign, which I did. I felt a mixture of relief and sadness coming from you, and I finally knew for sure that what I did was right, and you held on tighter to me when the doctor removed the breathing-thing from your throat. 

Your body was trying to breathe, and the doctor said that was normal and would stop soon and he left, and Simon closed the door behind him and stood guard over us. 

The breathing was ragged and slow, going even slower with every in-take of air, but it didn't quite stop... and suddenly I knew why. 

I told you: "Your body can't finish this by itself... you need to let go, too. I know it's hard... I know it hurts and I know you're afraid, but there's nothing we can do now. You know I love you, so please, trust me, let me guide you through this... One last time, Big Guy... Follow my voice." 

And it wasn't very hard at all, because you knew this had to be, and a part of you wanted to go. I talked you out of life like I had talked you out of a zone-out many times before, and I could feel the moment you finally let go, the moment you gave yourself over to the Other Side. 

I could see you then, for a moment, in the corner of the room... my big, strong, gentle Jim Ellison, with that special, beautiful smile that no one but me ever got from you, and you said: "I'll wait for you, love, as long as you want me to. So, take your time. I love you, Blair. But never dare to remember me like this." You pointed at the still form on the bed, then there was a flash of light and you were gone. 

Your body stopped breathing, and your heart stopped beating, and I cried and put my head on it's righteous place on your chest to listen for a heartbeat. 

But there was none, and I tried harder to hear it, but what I heard was just a strange, strangled sound, not very loud, a wailing that was desperate and heartbroken and just wouldn't stop. It took me a long time to notice that I was the one who made that sound... 

I can't tell you too much more, because most of the time after your... departure is one big, pain-filled blur. It's been a week now, and the funeral will be tomorrow. 

I'm tired, so very tired like never before, but I can't sleep without your heartbeat in my ear. Can't eat without your comments that too many vegetables would turn my face green one day. Can't really breathe without your love to give me a reason to. 

For now, I just want to finish this letter and finally submit to my body's needs and take some sleeping-pills Megan gave to me. I need to sleep, but I can't without help. 

Anyway... I know I told you lots of stuff you already knew, but I had to do this... write it down to make it real, you know? And I need some reality. 

I found out that you left everything you had to me, to find out no more than a moment later that your ex-wife and your brother are teaming up against me to get what they call 'their share'. I decided to give them what they want. I just can't fight them, not now. 

So, this is my last night at home. The loft and your stuff in it goes to Carolyn, because some of the things belonged to her once... Stephen will get the money, all of what we put back because I can't find a way to prove how much of it I put into the account, and the insurance money. 

My stuff is packed; I'll leave Cascade tomorrow. Leaving the loft feels like loosing you all over again, but I'll get through it, because I was allowed to keep the truck, and it contains a lot of memories, too, so I won't loose them all. 

I admit I stole some of your things, shirts and pictures and books... and I took all the things that were 'us', like those silly plushy-blue handcuffs my Mom gave to us, or the sleeping-bag we made love in on our first camping-trip as lovers. You see, you're with me one way or another, but you would still be if I didn't have any of these things. 

Because you're in my heart. You've imprinted yourself deeply there, claimed and marked your territory and it doesn't seem you're going to give it up anytime soon. At least I hope you won't, because even through all the pain, all the confusion I still feel loved, and I need that feeling to go on... to come back from this strange state I'm in and find a new reason for living. Not that I could imagine one right now. 

But time turns wounds into scars, and even though the wound your leaving has caused will never really stop hurting, there will come a time when the hurt will lessen, and I'm sure you'll be with me then. You will be there for me when I'm ready to make decisions about my life again. 

I still feel you, not in the almost physical way I could in the hospital, and I know you're far away, but still... I know you're _somewhere_ , and that means, whatever happens, we can find a way to meet again when the time is right. 

I think it's time to finish this letter. It has to be folded, and enveloped, and I have to make up a tribal ritual to explain why I give my 'roomie' a letter on his last journey. I can't make them understand what we had by myself. 

And I'm going in circles anyway. So, some last thoughts before I let this piece of my heart go into the darkness with your beloved body... 

I love you. I have for a long time, and I'm sorry I couldn't admit it right away. All I can say is that I was afraid... of the strength of my feelings, of the g-word, partly even of you. 

How could someone like you, all big and strong and beautiful and so very sure of himself want a little guy like me? I couldn't believe it back then, and I surely never believed anybody could _love_ me. I never let anybody get close enough to try. 

Even when I had moved in with you I kept you at distance, always talking, just hardly about me. But you came closer anyway, and you loved me anyway. 

You took my heart the way you did everything, silently and determined and very effective. You showed me your love in so many ways, most of them wordless, a touch, a kiss or a cup of tea at three a.m. in the morning. 

I'm thankful beyond words for the brief time we could be lovers. It was too short, but maybe that's just the way it is with being happy... a certain amount of happiness for each of us, and when it's used up, life makes us go on without it. I don't like this thought, but it would explain what happened to us. 

And maybe it's just not true at all, because I still feel connected to you, which means we can find each other again, and _that_ means there will come a time when I can be happy again. 

I want to come and join you one day, Jim. I want that with all of my heart. I believe we can be together again. Will you wait for me, my love? I hope you can. So that I can touch you once more, look into your eyes and tell you I love you. Whatever happens after that doesn't really matter, because we will face it together... 

So... thank you. For putting up with me, for knowing me, for loving me anyway. Thank you for letting me love you, for holding me at night, for the sweet memories of your skin on mine... Thank you for being you, my lover, my friend, my Sentinel... my Jim. 

Be very careful over there. Try to remember me. I love you. 

Blair 

* * *

The young man at the desk folded what he had written and put it in an envelope. He started to cry, and held the letter close to his heart while he did so. 

He still felt like crying later, but the tears refused to flow any longer, so he carefully placed his letter on the desk and got up. He took two pills out of a little bottle and swallowed them, then he went on his round to check the locks, the windows and turn out the lights. 

He went upstairs in the darkness and crawled onto the big bed, burying himself under pillows and blankets, already almost asleep by then. He didn't see the other man appear, who watched him for a while before he slid under the covers with him. 

But the young man felt the touch of his companion and asked sleepily: "Jim?" The bigger man spooned up behind him, providing warmth and love and safety and comfort, and answered: "I'm here. It's okay. I've come to keep you warm." 

The young man sighed contendedly, mumbled: "love you" and barely heard the reply: "I love you too. You'll never be cold again." before he fell asleep. 

His mate joined him soon in the land of dreams, and they slept, together in the warm velvet blue of the night. 

END 


End file.
